


Rust

by jirluvien



Category: VIXX
Genre: Horror, M/M, Multiple Personalities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 17:15:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2076366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jirluvien/pseuds/jirluvien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>there's never only one nightmare, and there's not only hongbin in hongbin's body anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rust

**Author's Note:**

> I woke up in the middle of the night to write this. I'm posting it unedited aside from fixing typos. My dreams must be fun.
> 
> (Alternative title: how Xan joined the Crazy Hongbin Movement despite saying she wouldn't.)

when hongbin goes missing, there are days of bitten fingernails and fruitless phone calls and interrogations that end far too quickly. the world freezes, except it doesn't, and the nights get longer and the chill in the air feels like it will never disappear.

 

when taekwoon finds hongbin, following a series of weird messages at their fan cafe, hongbin's body is cut and pierced, a voodoo doll lying in his lap, and a crazy fangirl screams at taekwoon that her work isn't complete yet. he pays her no mind -- the police he called will take care of her -- and cradles what's left of hongbin in his arms. he knows the voice that whispers his name in quiet wonder, but the eyes looking at him, those eyes are foreign.

 

when the doctors start taking all the piercings out of tortured flesh, hongbin begs to keep the one in his forearm, swearing he needs it, that it will help. they nod understandingly and only clean the wound around the metal. to taekwoon, it's still dirty.

 

hongbin's voice is quieter than it used to be, but he's slowly adjusting to them again, refusing to take time off, refusing to take a break. there are dark circles under his eyes and his look is still foreign, but there's strength too, and they hope.

 

hongbin takes to touching taekwoon, little brushes of his fingers without even looking as he passes by. the others see it as a bond between them, as if the minutes they spent alone at the end of one nightmare were a forge, and maybe they were, but forges exists to change things into new shapes, and nobody seems to think about that enough.

 

the first time taekwoon kisses hongbin is the first time hongbin holds on, fingers digging in taekwoon's side, but they feel like claws.

 

"you taste like freedom," hongbin says, and taekwoon doesn't want to think about hongbin's expression, about how much not-hongbin he is right now, and he won't think about the way hongbin's words sound like a promise to drink that freedom up until there's none left.

 

taekwoon finds hongbin's forgotten camera and they go on a trip. his worries melt as they bask in the sunshine, and hongbin takes beautiful pictures and his hair is a mess in the breeze, long and tangled like it used to be in the beginning. taekwoon allows himself a smile as he maps hongbin's skin with his tongue, until his lips meet cold metal that leaves a rusty tang in taekwoon's mouth. when he lifts his head, hongbin's eyes are dark and his grin is too sharp and without any real mirth.

 

there's never only one nightmare, and there's not only hongbin in hongbin's body anymore.

 

"hold me, taekwoon," not-hongbin says, and there's no fight to talk about, only a stretch of his hand and sighs of his name, bared shamelessly to the void between them, to the voids in them. "taekwoon," it repeats, and hongbin is always polite but this thing, this thing that isn't hongbin never uses honorifics and it makes cold fear seep in taekwoon's heart.

 

sometimes taekwoon wants to turn and run, to bring torches, to burn them to ashes, but then hongbin wraps his arms around him, murmurs a thank you, and taekwoon hopes the darkness is just a shadow of hongbin's dimples magnified by his own imagination.

 

hongbin's laughter rings a little too hollow, a barely audible dissonant lilt meant for taekwoon and only for him. but hongbin at least smiles. the thing never does.

 

and sometimes he really can't take it, he's suffocating and the whole world can't have enough air to stop it, and those are the times when he runs, but he always knows about the gaze on his back, always feels like he only managed to make his leash longer for a little while.

 

"what do you want me to do," taekwoon hears and he looks, looks at the beautiful statue in front of him, unmoving only for the tiniest details in the corner of his eyes, shifting and rippling in a way that's not possible and it's hongbin's hand on taekwoon's shoulder but it's not his whisper when it says "or should i go to sanghyuk, touch him like i touch you, he would be so pretty for me, is that what you want taekwoon" and taekwoon covers the freezing fingers with his own and hopes it's enough to stop the contagion from spreading.

 

hongbin picks the best piece of the meat from the bowl and offers it to taekwoon. "here, hyung, take this," he says and taekwoon can see the _i am sorry_ in hongbin's eyes and the _i don't know what's happening_ in the way his hand shakes just a little bit and the _i need you_ in the split second of hesitancy before hongbin pulls his chopsticks back.

 

"i wonder what your soul sounds like," it says and taekwoon closes his eyes at the chill of a body passing by too close. it's a question he knows the answer for; taekwoon has no soul anymore, because taekwoon withers and dies slowly day by day in hongbin's hands.

 

when they officially start dating, it's careful and sweet and hongbin beams at taekwoon and taekwoon feels content for a little while, feathering the softest touches against hongbin's skin and soul so he doesn't break more. but when shadows fall over hongbin's eyes in their bed, always out of the others' sight, he runs his hand down taekwoon's throat and burns his poison through tissue and veins and spreads taekwoon bare and takes and takes until there's nothing else to give, until there's nothing more to wish for.

 

taekwoon dreams sometimes, of home and flying and warmth, all the things that are inaccessible to him. the marrow in his bones has been frozen for too long.

 

when hongbin gives taekwoon his first piercing, the quiet laughter that bubbles from taekwoon's throat isn't entirely his, and when leo lifts his hands to cup hongbin's face and croon at him, the thing that's not hongbin smiles in answer.


End file.
